


A World Without You In It

by GEGabriels



Series: G.E.Gabriels' Les Mis Sickfics [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Canon Era, Fever, Hurt Enjolras, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sick Enjolras, Sickfic, Worried Grantaire, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GEGabriels/pseuds/GEGabriels
Summary: "Hang in there, Apollo," Grantaire whispered, stroking his hand across the marble cheek of the man he treasured more then any other man. Enjolras let out a gasp in response, a small tear sliding down his face, as he bit his lip, breathing heavily. Grantaire had no idea what to do. He knew Enjolras was shot, but he wasn't sure how to help him. Grantaire looked down at the bloody mess that had once been the side of Enjolras' stomach, gagging slightly. He took off his shirt without a second thought, and wrapped it around Enjolras' stomach, hoping that would at least stem the blood flowing down Enjolras' side a little bit.In which Enjolras and Grantaire realize their feelings, and Enjolras is shot, both the bullet, and the infection that follows, leaving Enjolras' life on the line.
Relationships: Combeferre & Courfeyrac & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: G.E.Gabriels' Les Mis Sickfics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896514
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	A World Without You In It

"Citizens of Paris!" Grantaire rolled his eyes in Enjolras' direction, as he downed the remnants of his current bottle in one gulp.

"You could start with something different," Courfeyrac offered from beside Enjolras, the two sitting at a table together, in the corner of the Musain. Grantaire was sitting at the table behind them, both drinking, and admiring a certain someone.

" _Citizens of Paris_ makes its point," Feuilly interjected from the table beside Grantaire, Enjolras shooting Feuilly a grateful look.

"It's becoming quite a frequent beginning to your speeches, though, and I daresay it's rather boring, besides, this is what you running it by us is for, no? Advice?" Courfeyrac pressed. Enjolras and Courfeyrac began murmuring together, most likely debating the phrase they had been talking about. Grantaire sighed, Joly walking over to him.

"Ah, my dear friend, what illness afflicts you today, hm?" Grantaire joked, Joly furrowing his brow,

"I may have cholera," Joly replied seriously, Grantaire letting out a bark of laughter.

"Cholera is serious business, Grantaire!" Joly lectured, Grantaire just shaking his head, and standing up, patting Joly's shoulder. Joly always thought himself ill with some sort of affliction, and Grantaire had learned to pay no mind to most of his worrying.

"Bossuet!" Joly suddenly exclaimed, as the man burst into the Musain, panting, but smiling, nonetheless. Enjolras and Courfeyrac looked up, and Grantaire simply gave Bossuet a nod of acknowledgement.

"The climate seems to be warming, and not the weather, mind you, but the political climate," Bossuet said, as he stumbled over his own feet for a second, before sitting safely down on a chair, "I do apologize for being late, I had… Other things to do," Bossuet said, turning his hand to show the rifle he was carrying to everyone. Enjolras jumped up from where he was sitting, taking the rifle,

"Brilliant! Where did you manage to procure it, pray tell?!" Enjolras exclaimed, excitement and passion painting his voice, as they so often did.

"Gavroche found it, actually, gave it to me. Said he found it laying around in a back-alley," Bossuet explained. Enjolras nodded, Courfeyrac standing up, and setting his hands down on the table he was at, though he was careful to avoid coming into contact with the candles that were currently lit.

"And where is the little revolutionary now?" Courfeyrac asked, Grantaire jumping in,

"Said he had, and I quote, 'sketchy business to attend to,'" Grantaire said.

"Ah," Enjolras replied, Courfeyrac randomly touching his arm. Enjolras leaned forward, tapping Courfeyrac's side, he and Courfeyrac letting out small huffs of laughter, and sitting back down. Grantaire watched, fascinated. Enjolras rarely ever laughed in the Les Amis presence, or just acted like another normal man, joking around with his friends.

"One more gun!" Enjolras exclaimed, jumping up on a chair, Courfeyrac standing beside it, "One more step towards the barricades!" He shouted, the Les Amis who were currently attending the meeting cheering. Except for Grantaire. Grantaire didn't cheer.

"Do you honestly think it means anything, _hm?_ If you do, then you're more foolish than I originally anticipated," Grantaire growled, his speech slightly slurred. He was drunk, of course.

"Grantaire…" Enjolras snarled, Courfeyrac sighing, "Every gun counts!" Enjolras defended. Grantaire rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair, which had sat in again,

"Your barricades aren't going to work, honestly, do you really think they will? The National Guard is much better equipped, and armed then you!" Grantaire said, and just like that, he and Enjolras began their weekly argument, that almost always ended in shouts and slammed doors. On the worst occasions, they led to bruises, and split lips. The argument progressed to them standing in front of each other, each man with raised fists. Grantaire took a deep breath. He wouldn't punch unless Enjolras did so first. Grantaire knew he'd win any fight they got into, as Grantaire took boxing, and was quite muscular, compared to Enjolras' more fragile, untrained, figure.

"Enjolras! Grantaire! _Honestly_!" Came a shout from the door, and Combeferre hurried in, dropping the numerous books and papers he had somehow carried all at once onto a vacant table, before making his way over, and grabbing Enjolras, gently pulling him back. Enjolras took a deep breath, glaring daggers at Grantaire, who gave him an amused look in return. It was fun to rile Enjolras up.

"Now, what is this all about?" Combeferre enquired, loosening his grip on Enjolras. Enjolras sighed,

"Need you even ask?" He muttered. Combeferre cleared his throat, taking his hands off of his blonde friend, and readjusting his spectacles.

"We accomplish nothing by fighting with one another… Enjolras, how's planning for the speech tomorrow coming?" Combeferre asked, and he and Enjolras began talking quietly together, Courfeyrac and Feuilly joining in, Grantaire now forgotten.

The speech tomorrow… Grantaire wasn't looking forward to it. He knew it would change nothing. If only everyone else knew that. He also knew, though, that he'd end up going anyways, if only to watch Apollo in action.

* * *

"Citizens of Paris!" Enjolras roared, Grantaire giving him an admirant look from the crowd below the platform Enjolras was standing on to give his speech, Feuilly, Marius, and Combeferre were all standing on the platform as well. Courfeyrac and Bahorel stood near Grantaire, fixated on Enjolras, as much of the crowd already was. From the first word Enjolras spoke of his recruitment speech, eyes turned his way. He was too beautiful, too passionate, too perfect, to not notice.

"Kings have plagued France for too long! The Monarchy, which I daresay is the worst form of government over man ever created, oppresses their citizens! They sit fat and lazy inside of their houses, while their citizens struggle to find the smallest scraps of food, while freezing in the streets, as rain and snow pummel their exposed bodies. There is no justice, under any klng!" Enjolras yelled, the crowd letting out shouts of encouragement, agreement, and excitement. There was a revolutionary fervour in the air. Enthusiastic citizens, all determined to create a better life for themselves, and others. It was exciting. And that was why Grantaire hated it, because he knew it would all fail in the end.

"And, so, dear citizens-" Enjolras began, but he was cut off by a shout from Marius,

"Police!" Marius yelled, Grantaire whipping around, snapping out of his mesmerized trance. There the police were, some walking, some on horseback. There were a whole damn lot of them too.

"Shit," Courfeyrac breathed from beside Grantaire,

"Freeze!" One officer yelled. Everyone involved in the protest of sorts froze. And that was exactly the moment that Enjolras, who was usually the picture of grace, stumbled over his own feet. And there was a shot. And people screamed. And ran. And Grantaire was frozen.

" _Enjolras_!" He heard Combeferre yell, Enjolras, who had fallen off of the platform at that point, yelling something back. Feuilly grabbed Combeferre's arm, forcing him away from the scene. Grantaire was confused. What had happened? Who had gotten shot? And why did Enjolras fall off the platform? He rushed forward, pushing through other people, though most had dispersed, and run off, in fear of the police. He could sense Bahorel's presence beside him, as they both made their way toward Enjolras.

Grantaire sucked in a breath, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Enjolras was laying at his feet, his breath coming in gasps, as he clutched his own chest. His red jacket had become undone, giving way to a white undershirt. And Grantaire could see blood. So much blood. It was staining Enjolras' fingers.

"Run…" Enjolras whispered, gesturing towards the police, who were already heading towards him. Bahorel turned to Grantaire,

"Get him to safety… I'll deal with them…" And before Grantaire could say anything else, Bahorel slammed into the nearest police officer, without any weapon at all, and sent him flying, causing all of the other police officers to focus their attention on him. Grantaire lifted Enjolras, who had gone worryingly pale and quiet, into his arms, rushing off as quickly as he could. Enjolras was quite light, and Grantaire was quite strong, so it wasn't hard to lift the blonde man. Grantaire made his way to an alley, collapsing against the wall, breathing heavily, before laying Enjolras down on the ground, and kneeling down by his side.

"Hang in there, Apollo," Grantaire whispered, stroking his hand across the marble cheek of the man he treasured more then any other man. Enjolras let out a gasp in response, a small tear sliding down his face, as he bit his lip, breathing heavily. Grantaire had no idea what to do. He knew Enjolras was shot, but he wasn't sure how to help him. Grantaire looked down at the bloody mess that had once been the side of Enjolras' stomach, gagging slightly. He took off his shirt without a second thought, and wrapped it around Enjolras' stomach, hoping that would at least stem the blood flowing down Enjolras' side a little bit.

There was a shuffling sound from above them, and Grantaire stood protectively over Enjolras, panting. A small, familiar face appeared over the rooftop of the tiny shop besides them, and Gavroche slipped off the roof, gripping onto a wooden pole, and climbing down, before rushing over to Grantaire and Enjolras' side.

"R!" Gavroche exclaimed, "What happened?! Why's e' bleedin'?" Gavroche asked.

"He was shot," Grantaire answered, "I can't move him… He'll bleed out…" Gavroche crossed his arms,

"Well, e's gonna die if yah leave im' ere'! If the blood loss doesn't kill em', whoever finds yah in this alley will!" Gavroche argued, "I'll go find Combeferre, and bring im' ere'." Gavroche offered, Grantaire almost embracing the young boy,

"Thank you, Gavroche!" He said, and Gavroche smiled, running off. Grantaire looked back down at Enjolras, brushing a few blonde curls out of the revolutionaries face, which was slick with sweat, and paling more by the second, "It'll be alright…" Grantaire whispered, Enjolras giving him a slight smile. Grantaire felt a small thrill in his heart. This was the first time Enjolras had ever smiled at him. He wished it was under different circumstances, however.

"Thank you… Grantaire… For helping…" Enjolras rasped, Grantaire kissing his forehead tenderly,

"Save your strength," He whispered. Enjolras let out a sudden shaky cry, before going entirely still, for a moment. Grantaire's heart froze.

"No, _no…_ Enjolras! Combeferre's coming, _please_!" He exclaimed, Enjolras letting out a small cough, and a few rapid breaths, his eyelids twitching. Grantaire's shirt was soaked in sticky scarlet blood at this point. Enjolras was bleeding too much, this Grantaire knew…

" _Grantaire! Enjolras!_ " Combeferre barreled into the alley at top speed a minute later, followed closely by Gavroche, who was carrying Combeferre's medical bag. Grantaire let out a small sob, quickly moving away from Enjolras to reveal the blonde man to Combeferre. Combeferre sucked in a gasp, kneeling at Enjolras' side.

"H-He stopped breathing… Earlier… Started again," Grantaire whispered, Combeferre nodding.

"The bullet?" Combeferre questioned, unwrapping Grantaire's shirt from Enjolras' stomach, "Gavroche, give me the bag…" Combeferre said, Gavroche handing him the medical bag. Combeferre poked around in it, before pulling out a pair of long silver tweezers. Combeferre took a bottle of alcohol from his bag as well, dampening a cloth with it, and dabbing around the blood wound, "Pray infection hasn't already set in," Combeferre whispered, before taking the tweezers, and slipping them directly into the gaping hole in Enjolras side. Enjolras let out a scream, and Combeferre gave his best friend a pained look, as if Enjolras' pain was Combeferre's, "Grantaire… Hold him down," Combeferre ordered.

"Alright," Grantaire immediately replied, not arguing with orders, for once. He pushed down on Enjolras legs, gently of course, while Gavroche somehow pressed down on his arms. Combeferre gave a small sigh of relief, as with a small tug, he pulled the bullet out of the wound, a gush of blood coming after it, washing over broken pieces of flesh and skin, staining them red.

"He's bleeding too much," Combeferre whispered, dousing the cloth, which was now more red then it's original blue, in alcohol once more, and rubbing it over the wound. He reached into his bag again, and began wrapping a white bandage around Enjolras stomach, tying it tightly. Combeferre turned to Gavroche,

"Gav, I need you to go find where Joly is hiding, and tell him to meet us at Enjolras and I's living quarters," Combeferre ordered, Gavroche nodding, and running off. Combeferre turned to Grantaire, "You're stronger than I am. I need you to carry him."

Grantaire gently lifted Enjolras into his arms, Enjolras letting out a small whimper, "Careful not to jostle the wound," Combeferre instructed, Grantaire taking great care not to. They met a very nervous Joly outside of Enjolras and Combeferre's flat. Joly gasped the second he saw the state of Enjolras,

"Oh, dear God above…" Joly whispered, as they made their way into Combeferre and Enjolras' living room. Grantaire blinked for a second, before realizing that his presence wasn't needed any longer, and walking out. He walked out so quickly, that he missed the weak,

" _Where's Grantaire going_?" From Enjolras.

* * *

"Grantaire, for God's sake, stop lazing around! Get up and smile!" Bossuet exclaimed, poking Grantaire's side. Grantaire didn't respond, dropping his head into his arms, which he had firmly folded on the table.

"Ah, Grantaire, please?" Bossuet pressed, Grantaire ignoring his friend. He, Bossuet, Jehan, and Bahorel, who had miraculously escaped any harm two days before at the hands of the National Guard, were the only four in the Musain. Joly, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were tending to Enjolras, and everyone else was out on important business.

"Bossuet, leave him be," Jehan softly came in, Grantaire flickering his eyes toward the red-head, and giving him a grateful look. Jehan gave him a smile in return, and went back to writing whatever it was he was writing. Joly suddenly burst into the Musain, making his way to Grantaire's side.

"Grantaire, are you busy?" Joly asked, Grantaire snorting,

"Not in the slightest," He replied. Joly nodded,

"Would you mind dropping by Enjolras and Combeferre's then? See, Enjolras is calling for you-" Grantaire was out the door before Joly could finish the sentence, and he heard a volley of laughs from behind him, from Bossuet and Bahorel, no doubt, and a small hum of sympathy from Jehan. The Musain wasn't that far from Enjolras and Combeferre's, so Grantaire was knocking on their door in a matter of minutes. The door was opened by a rather exhausted looking Courfeyrac.

"Grantaire," Courfeyrac murmured, his curls wildly sticking out in every direction possible.

"How is he?" Grantaire asked, Courfeyrac giving a simple shrug in response. Courfeyrac stepped aside, letting Grantaire enter, and Grantaire beelined toward Enjolras and Combeferre's bedroom. Grantaire opened the door, stepping in. Almost at once, the overwhelming smell of blood and vomit pierced his nostrils, and he glanced at Enjolras' bed, which was empty. He momentarily panicked, before he set his sights on Combeferre's bed, which was on the other side of the room. Enjolras was curled up on the bed, Combeferre rubbing his back, and whispering things under his breath, though whether they were to himself, or to Enjolras, Grantaire didn't know. He wasn't entirely surprised, as Courfeyrac told tales of Enjolras and Combeferre frequently, and had once mentioned that whenever one of them was feeling unwell, or was injured, they would randomly climb into bed with the other. No wonder there had been quite a few raised eyebrows at that, now that Grantaire thought of it…

"Oh, Grantaire, you're here… Can you fetch me the pail of water by the front door?" Combeferre enquired. Grantaire gave Combeferre a small nod, and grabbed the pail of water, handing it to Combeferre. Combeferre gave him a small murmur of appreciation. Grantaire sucked in a breath, as he saw Enjolras' up close. The man who Grantaire fondly (And sometimes bitterly) called Apollo, was looking about as un-Apollo-like as you could look. Enjolras' eyes were swollen and red, Grantaire not sure if that was from tears, or something else, and they were shut tightly. His face was pale and white, yet his cheeks were flushed cherry red. His golden curls stuck to his damp-with-sweat forehead, and his breathing came out in hoarse, ragged breaths.

"Dear God…" Grantaire whispered, instinctively placing the back of his hand on Enjolras' forehead, shocked, "He's burning up!" He exclaimed. Combeferre's eyes met his, and Combeferre gave a slow nod, dipping a piece of cloth into the pail of water, and smoothing it over Enjolras forehead.

"The wound's infected," Combeferre informed, "He started feeling feverish yesterday evening, and it's been getting worse ever since." Grantaire nodded, and Enjolras opened his eyes, staring right at Grantaire, but not saying anything.

"He's near delirious, I think," Combeferre murmured, rubbing his finger across Enjolras' cheek, looking as if he wanted to do nothing more then spare his friend any more pain. Grantaire nodded, Enjolras suddenly shifting in bed.

" _Grantaire_ …" Enjolras whispered, Grantaire walking over to his side, tenderly stroking Enjolras' blonde curls, in a very un-Grantaire way.

"Yes?" Grantaire replied, Enjolras giving him a slight smile,

"I'm just… Happy you're here," He rasped, resting his head on Grantaire's hand. Grantaire's heart constricted, both at the heat that was practically radiating off of Enjolras, and at the vulnerability Enjolras was allowing him to see.

"If the fever gets any worse… I don't know what I'll do…" Combeferre whispered, Grantaire giving a small nod. Nothing could happen to Enjolras, right? No, he was Apollo, brilliant and strong! Above all other beings! And yet here he was, reduced to a whimpering, feverish mess.

"Grantaire… Would you mind staying here for a little while? He's been asking for you so much.. And I just want him to be… Happy, and comfortable," Combeferre asked. The last part of the sentence didn't bode well with Grantaire, for whatever reason.

"Of course I'll stay," Grantaire replied, astounded that Enjolras would want him of all people to stay with him. The rest of the day passed quickly, Enjolras sinking further, and further into the grips of the fever that was plaguing him. Finally, after Grantaire had gone out to fetch water from the well for about the third time that day, Combeferre pulled him and Courfeyrac into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

"What is it?" Courfeyrac asked, Combeferre putting a shaking hand on both Courfeyrac and Grantaire's shoulders.

"He's not going to make it through the night," Combeferre broke the news. Grantaire's heart sank further than he ever knew a heart could sink. Tears pricked in his eyes, as he struggled to imagine a world without Enjolras. He didn't know if he could stand living in it. While Combeferre and Grantaire made an effort to hide their feelings, Courfeyrac did nothing of the sort. Tears rolled down his cheeks,

"Goddammit, Enjolras!" He exclaimed, " _Goddammit_!" He then proceeded to kick the furniture next to him. Hard. Combeferre grabbed his hands, and the two pressed their foreheads together, comforting each other. Grantaire took this as an opportunity to go back into the bedroom. And there was Enjolras, shaking with chills, his bandages in need of changing, and a few tear trails staining his face.

"Damn you, Apollo," Grantaire muttered, placing his large hand on Enjolras' shirtless chest, "Damn you… I know I always say that… But I mean it this time. Great God… Enjolras… You have no idea…" Grantaire's voice cracked at the end. Enjolras just blinked, Grantaire doubting he understood a word he said, the infection's fever much too high.

"You're going to die… Aren't you...? Enjolras, I can't believe I'm supporting life here, but you have so much to live for. You're a revolutionary. And you're so important to Combeferre and Courfeyrac… And the other Les Amis. You have no idea how important you are to me…" Grantaire said, Enjolras still not responding. Grantaire sighed, a tear trickling down his face, and landing on Enjolras' right hand, which still had a few brown patches from the blood it had touched two days earlier.

"If you're dying… I want this to be one of the last things you hear. I love you, Enjolras," Grantaire admitted, "I love you more then anyone can fathom…" Grantaire suddenly felt a hand take his, and he looked down. Enjolras' hand, the very one that the teardrop had fallen onto, was now clutched tightly in his.

"I love you too…" Enjolras suddenly said softly, Grantaire tracing circles on Enjolras' hand with his thumb, Enjolras giving a small sigh of pleasure. Grantaire gave him a tearful smile, and that was right when Combeferre walked in, to change the bandages on Enjolras' wound. Combeferre gave Grantaire a nod, as he sat down on the bed, gently unraveling the bandages, to reveal the bloody hole in Enjolras' side, which was warm to the touch, and swollen at the edges. Combeferre began rubbing it gently with alcohol, and a small bit of water, before wrapping it back up. Grantaire was relieved that Combeferre did it quickly. Any longer, and Grantaire would have vomited at the sight. Combeferre eyes Enjolras and Grantaire's entwined hands, taking Enjolras' other hand into his own. Enjolras gave both Combeferre and Grantaire a thankful look, Combeferre redipping the cloth on Enjolras' forehead in water, before gently placing it back on.

"Isn't there something you can do?!" Grantaire begged, Combeferre sighing,

"Blood-letting will only hurt him more, I'm sure… I would draw a cold bath, but that may only hurt him farther, again. And then he could very well die of being too cold," Combeferre replied.

"So we just sit here, and hope for a miracle?!" Grantaire exclaimed, Combeferre looking down at his feet,

"There's nothing I can do, Grantaire!" He cried, his face crumpling. Combeferre quickly excused himself from the room, and Grantaire could hear Courfeyrac comforting his friend from outside the bedroom. Grantaire leaned his head against Combeferre's bed, still holding hands with Enjolras, and closed his eyes, pretending that this was a different circumstance.

* * *

" _Grantaire… Grantaire, wake up!_ " Grantaire opened his eyes, seeing Combeferre standing in front of him. Oh, dammit, had he fallen asleep?

"Enjolras!" Grantaire exclaimed, instantly turning his head in Enjolras' direction. Enjolras was laying on his back, his eyes closed, his face peaceful. Grantaire's heart thudded. No… _No_ , it couldn't be!

"Grantaire! _Grantaire_!" Combeferre shouted, grabbing Grantaire's arm, just as Grantaire began hyperventilating,

"Grantaire, it's alright. He's sleeping," Combeferre reassured him, Grantaire letting out a huge sigh of relief. Combeferre placed a hand over Grantaire's chest,

"Just breath," He whispered, Grantaire calming himself down, giving Combeferre a thankful look.

"His temperature has dropped, Grantaire," Combeferre informed, relief, and joy coloring his usually soft and expressionless voice. Grantaire felt tears prick in his eyes. Not tears of pain, this time. Tears of relief.

"He's not out of the woods yet, though. The fever still isn't entirely gone, though the wound looks better. But… I think he'll make it. It takes more then one bullet to kill him, I suppose," Combeferre murmured, giving Enjolras' sleeping form an affectionate look. Grantaire nodded, glancing over Enjolras. He looked a lot better then he had before. His eyes were no longer swollen, though there were dark shadows under them, and his face had regained more color, though the flush on his cheeks remained.

"Go to sleep," Grantaire told Combeferre, who was looking quite exhausted, "I can watch him… Where's Courfeyrac?" Combeferre frowned,

"Sleeping in the living room, and that's really not necessary," He started, Grantaire cutting him off,

"You know Enjolras would want you to rest, if he were awake," He pointed out. Combeferre sighed, before walking over to Enjolras' bed, as Enjolras still occupied his, and slipped into it, falling asleep. Though Enjolras and Combeferre had no qualms about sharing a bed, to the point where it was sometimes concerning, Grantaire knew Combeferre didn't want to risk touching Enjolras' wound, even though it was wrapped up in bandages, while asleep. Grantaire stroked the side of Enjolras' face, real joy filling him for the first time in a long time. Perhaps since he was a boy. Enjolras would probably be okay… No, for once, he let himself be optimistic. Because he had to be. Enjolras would be okay. Enjolras would be okay. And he was right.

* * *

"Grantaire, come in," Combeferre sounded pleasantly surprised, as Grantaire walked into Enjolras and Combeferre's flat.

"How is he doing?" Grantaire asked. He had heard a few stories from Courfeyrac about Enjolras' current state of health, but he hadn't been to visit Enjolras for five entire days, ever since he had left the first time, after Enjolras' temperature had miraculously started climbing down.

"Whiny, argumentative, and achy," Combeferre supplied. Grantaire chuckled. He could barely picture Enjolras as whiny. Argumentative, yes, but whiny seemed too human for Enjolras to be. Grantaire wasn't sure why he hadn't come to visit Enjolras, until then. It had just seemed.. Wrong to do, at the time. But he, with a little bit of coaxing from Joly and Bossuet, had finally gotten the guts to go see Enjolras. Everyone else had, at some point, except for him.

"Don't agitate him, please, even if he's being a pain in the buttocks," Combeferre quickly said, Grantaire nodding. Combeferre turned toward the bedroom, opening the door, and letting Grantaire in. Grantaire immediately spotted Enjolras', still on Combeferre's bed. He was propped up against the pillows, reading. Enjolras looked up, as Grantaire entered the room, and gave Grantaire a smile,

"Hello," Enjolras greeted, Grantaire unable to stop the stupid grin that rose on his face.

"Hello, how are you doing?" Grantaire asked, Enjolras rolling his eyes. Yes, rolling his eyes. It shocked Grantaire, slightly.

"M'fine," Enjolras said, his voice higher pitched then usual, though his usual voice wasn't anything deep, "Everyone always keep asking that, and I'm _fine_!" He whined, Grantaire's eyes widening. Enjolras raised an eyebrow, "What?" He asked, Grantaire shaking his head,

"It's nothing," Grantaire replied, leaning forward, and stroking his hand across Enjolras' cheek, astounded that Enjolras let him, instead of pulling away.

"You're still a touch warm," Grantaire observed, Enjolras sighing,

"I need to get out of this bed…" He mumbled. Grantaire gave him an amused look,

"I can move you to your bed, if that'd be better," He suggested, Combeferre suddenly walking in to the room,

"That actually wouldn't be a bad idea. Then you wouldn't be laying on dried blood, vomit remnants, and God knows what else," Combeferre said, helping Enjolras to his feet. Grantaire noticed the grimace of pain on Enjolras' face, but was relieved that the man was semi-walking. It was strange to see Enjolras actively accept help from someone else. Once Enjolras had been safely moved to his own bed, and Combeferre had hurried off to fetch water from the well, Enjolras brought up something rather… Interesting, to say the least.

"About what you said to me…" Enjolras suddenly said. Grantaire froze,

"What do you mean?" He enquired. Enjolras frowned,

"That night, when I was very ill… You said that you loved me," He murmured.

"So… You heard that…" Grantaire whispered. Enjolras gave him a slight nod. Grantaire's heart sank.

"I-I'm sorry… I understand, if you want me to leave… The Les Amis… It's okay-" Grantaire exclaimed, and he was cut off by the unexpected happening. Enjolras grabbed his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him. It was a quick, but passionate kiss, and Grantaire leaned into it, years of neglected emotions pouring into the action. They broke apart after about 15 seconds, Enjolras slightly panting.

"This is illegal," Enjolras suddenly muttered, "Oh great God, we're breaking the law…" Grantaire smirked,

"So is running a rebel republican group that's going to try and overthrow the monarchy," He pointed out, Enjolras grinning, at that,

"True," Enjolras murmured, Grantaire stroking his cheek, which was still slightly warm, and flushed, but was not dangerously hot,

"I'm so glad you're alright," Grantaire whispered, "I can't imagine a world without you in it." Enjolras smiled,

"I can't imagine a world without you in it either," He said, Grantaire embracing him, mindful of his wound. This was good. Enjolras would be fine. Grantaire would be fine. Everything was good, and everybody would be fine. For once in his life, Grantaire was optimistic.

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be writing a chapter for a different story, and this happened instead. Oh well. I'm unsure if this technically fits in with my Sickfic Collection, but I'm going to guess it does.
> 
> I also am not a medical professional, just a thirteen-year-old who has read a few medical books, so anything medical related in here is probably not accurate.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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